


More Than Gravity

by kay_emm_gee



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hospital, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Falling In Love, Friendship, Relationship(s), Roommates, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-17
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-04-21 04:40:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4815401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kay_emm_gee/pseuds/kay_emm_gee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One house, five (plus one) roommates, and a whole lot of figuring out what the hell they want out of life.</p><p>
  <b>[ABANDONED]</b>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Basically as much as I love the whole 'Bellamy-&-co adopt a stray Clarke' fic trope, I want to turn that on its head here. Also the living situation is inspired by the intern house in Grey's Anatomy. Also also the rating will probably go up at some point. Yeah.

Sticking her key in the lock, Clarke realized yet again how she must be ten kinds of stupid to be doing this. Her housemates would no doubt tell her the same in the morning. The guy— _Bellamy_ , he had said, voice low and defeated—shifted behind her, clearly still uncomfortable as well.

“I’d be fine in a motel. Really.”

The key slid in, she threw him an exasperated look over her shoulder, and then walked into her house. She heard him sigh before treading in, the floorboards creaking beneath his boots. Her mother had always sworn to put new flooring in, but as the head of Mt. Weather’s cardiac department, she was always just busy enough to never quite get around to it. Clarke didn’t mind though. The groaning creaks reminded her of days past: her father sweeping in through the door after work, Wells bounding out as he jovially threatened to leave her late-ass behind for school (he never did, but it had come close more often than not).

And now he— _Bellamy_ , she reminded herself—stood just inside the door instead, the late-hour darkness deepening the tired shadows under his eyes and worry lines etched across his face. Underneath all that, she could make out his unease and lingering reluctance too.

Clarke sighed, flinging her keys onto the entryway table and toeing off her sneakers. “I just came off a thirty-six hour shift, and if I have to drive you to a motel, that’s going to be another hour of sleep I lose. Just come inside.”

Bellamy ducked his head in acquiescence, closing the door behind him. As she retreated to the closet to get some things for him to sleep on, she heard him take off his shoes too, and then pad over to the living room.

“It’s more comfortable than it looks,” she offered, tossing the blankets and pillow she found stuffed on the top shelf over the sagging but well-loved gray couch.

“It’s great.”

He shot her a tired smile, dropping his duffle to the floor. Without changing, he sank down onto the couch, face in hands, rubbing them through his hair before turning around to face her again.

“Thanks,” Bellamy whispered, and the moonlight shone brightly on his front, making the black sutures running across his forehead even more noticeable.

She nodded, and he turned away from her again, forearms braced on his knees as he let out a sigh. After one last careful glance at the back of his head, Clarke jogged up the stairs, more than ready for bed. As she undressed, letting her scrubs fall to the floor, she thought again of the weary set to his shoulders and the way he had tried to brush off her offer back in the ER. For reasons too murky for her tangle out at two in the morning, she was extremely glad her stubbornness had won out over his.

She was probably still out of her mind to bring home the injured, possibly concussed patient with nowhere to stay the night, but as she crawled into bed, replaying the genuine, relieved  _thanks_  he had repaid her with, she thought maybe she was only nine kinds of stupid.

* * *

Clarke stared over the rim of her coffee cup at her roommate, who stared right back at her from her perch on the kitchen counter.

“So, you brought someone home,” Raven finally said.

“He needed a place to stay.”

“On our couch.”

Clarke shrugged, ignoring her friend’s dubious expression. “He had a serious head injury and was planning on sleeping in his car.”

“Our couch is not that comfortable,” Raven argued.

“Our couch is great, and much better than a car seat.”

“Let me rephrase: our couch is definitely not as comfortable as your bed.”

Clarke choked on her sip of coffee, now glaring at Raven. “Head injury. He has a head injury.”

“Didn’t look that bad to me,” Raven taunted.

“He’s a patient!” Clarke hissed, glancing warily over her shoulder towards the living room. “I am not going to sleep with a patient.”

“If he’s a patient, why isn’t he staying at the hospital, instead of on our debatably comfortable couch?”

Sighing, Clarke set down her mug. “I was just trying to be helpful. Don’t turn this into a thing.”

“I’m not turning this into a thing. I’m just saying, you finally bring an insanely hot guy home after a serious sex drought and it’s only because you were being _helpful_. Sure, okay.”

Raven smirked, and Clarke threw her an exasperated look. Before she could respond, though, Bellamy let out a soft snore, reminding her how easily sound carried in the house. It used to be her favorite thing about it, because she could always hear her dad laughing and her mother talking, any time of day, even all the way up in her bedroom. It was different now, filled with the voices of her friends instead. Sometimes she still ached for how it used to be–with her family whole and around her–but the noise she had now was certainly better than the lonely silence that had pervaded the house when she had first moved back to Portland last year.

At the moment, though, she didn’t appreciate the way Raven’s voice was filling up the space, the conversation too private for a stranger to have the chance to overhear.

“You done?” Clarke grumbled.

“Just being nice,” Raven mocked one last time before slurping down a last, large gulp of her coffee.

With a withering look, Clarke handed her her own empty mug, and Raven deposited both in the sink before she swept out of the room.

“Since you might actually want to enjoy one of your days off, condoms are in the top box on my nightstand shelf,” she taunted as she walked backwards down the hall, slinging on her messenger bag. “Because I know you haven’t bothered to replace your own.”

Clarke swore at her in farewell, and not even the sound of the front door shutting could drown out her roommate’s laughter. Craning her neck around, she sighed in relief, seeing Bellamy still asleep. He needed it after the night he had had. As she debated retreating to her room to leave him in peace, her stomach rumbled rebelliously, so she decided to risk staying down here, near him, in order to satisfy her hunger.

She was halfway through an enormous bowl of Frosted Flakes–sue her, just because she was a doctor didn’t mean she made the best self-health decisions–and an article about the latest snag in the healthcare reform bill when the wooden floor creaked. When she looked up, Bellamy stood in the archway between the living room and kitchen, bleary-eyed and running a hand slowly through his messy, ruffled curls.

“Morning,” he said, his already low voice even rougher from sleep.

“Coffee is in the pot, but it’s probably cold by now,” Clarke offered, watching him stare at her dazedly.

He didn’t move, just looked at her, and then down at his feet, hand cupping the back of his neck. Finally, after a pause that bordered on awkward, she asked, “You’re not one of those weird people who don’t drink coffee, are you?”

“I drink coffee,” he reassured her, glancing up with more awareness in his eyes now.

“Then help yourself. Seriously.” She gave him a half-smile, because he seemed to need convincing.

With one last glance in her direction, he shuffled forward, stifling a yawn, pausing to stare at the pot on the coffee maker. Then he reached for the cupboard above, as if doing it by rote, only pausing when opening it revealed an extremely disorganized collection of tupperware.

“Sorry, mugs are in that one,” she corrected, pointing three doors down and wincing at how high-pitched her voice sounded. She wasn’t nervous, or excited, but something about him made her words tumble out faster than usual.

He shot her an embarrassed hint of a smile, reaching now much more hesitantly for the mug. He emptied the remaining brew from the pot into it, then continued staring at the machine.

“Uh, we don’t have cream, and sugar is in the canisters by the toaster,” she offered.

He was still back-to when he replied, “I drink it black, even though my sister”–he paused, shoulder blades shifting uncomfortably, mirroring the tension in his voice–“insists it takes like battery acid plain.”

“She’s not wrong,” Clarke teased softly.

Bellamy let out a huff of a laugh. “Just tell me where you keep your stock so I can make more.”

“Oh! I can do that.” She hopped off her stool, ready to hurry over but he twisted around, stopping her with a firm, sheepish gaze.

“Clarke,” he rasped, the sound of her name on his lips doing something funny to her insides. “You let a virtual stranger stay in your house after he drunkenly injured himself and threw up on you in the ER while you patched him up. The least I can do is make you more coffee.”

“I told you, everybody gets nauseous when they get stitches,” she murmured, clutching the granite kitchen countertop tightly. “And really, I don’t need any more caffeine today.”

As he considered her, he took a sip of his own drink, the line of his shoulders relaxing as he did so. “Too addicted?”

“Monty thinks so,” she replied, then clarified. “My roommate.”

“The one who was here earlier?”

“No. That was Raven. Sorry, did we wake you?” Clarke bit her lip, hoping he hadn’t actually heard their conversation.

“Nah,” he said, looking down at his mug. Then he downed the rest of his drink in three large gulps, set the mug on the counter, and caught her gaze again, unwaveringly. “Thanks, for everything really, but I should get going.”

He was already in the living room folding up the blanket he had used before she collected her thoughts. “You left your car at the hospital, and I can tell you, it is definitely too far to walk to.”

His hands stopped, clutching the edges of the tattered plaid flannel. “Oh. Right.”

“I’ll drive you,” she stated firmly, heading for the hallway.

Sighing, he finished folding the blanket and then stacked it neatly on top of the pillow as he said, “I’m sure you have better things to do today. I don’t mind walking.”

“Keys are already in my hand,” she said, grabbing them and her purse from the side-table where she’d left them the night before. “You’re not going to win this fight.”

His lips flexed upwards in exasperation, a reaction that seemed far too familiar for less than a day of knowing him. She just smiled back, dangling the keys from her fingers.

“I’m fine, you know,” Bellamy reassured her, folding his arms stubbornly. “Not even all that sore.”

“Just get in the car,” she complained, heading for the front door without looking back.

He did follow, like Clarke knew he would. By the time he threw his duffle in her backseat, she already had the finicky engine of her beat-up Jeep running. It still stuttered when she put it into reverse, though, resisting gearing up in the chilly morning air. He raised his eyebrows at her, and she frowned, both at him and the car.

“You should get that looked at,” he suggested, though it sounded more like an order.

“Trust me, Raven has tried everything. She’s just temperamental,” Clarke argued.

“She?”

Not liking his skeptical tone, she replied testily, “Yes, she.”

“Don’t tell me your car has a name.”

“Jeanine is a perfectly good car,” she shot back, jiggling the stick shift until the ugly whining stopped and the car finally backed out of the driveway.

Bellamy seemed to mutter a disagreement under his breath, which Clarke chose to ignore. Jeanine had seen her through a lot: college, medical school, and the first year of her residency. She hadn’t given up on Clarke, and there was no way Clarke was going to give up on her, no matter how much Raven criticized ‘ _that stupid hunk of wheeled metal that is a sorry excuse for a car_.’ She was just pissed that there was finally something mechanical that she couldn’t fix, and to be honest, Clarke liked Jeanine even more for that reason.

Despite his initial protests, Bellamy remained silent for the rest of the drive, staring out the window a little too pointedly to be unintentional. Clarke, however, kept glancing over at him, more frequently than was probably safe, instead of keeping her focus on the road. The morning light made his skin take on a golden tone, the spattering of freckles across his face much more pronounced than they had been last night under the fluorescent lights of the ER, or the shadows of her dark living room. He carried his head less tenderly, so she assumed the pain from his cut was better this morning, but the tension in his shoulders was the same. She had a feeling that had nothing to do with his injury, but something else, something that slashed much deeper than a superficial head wound.

“We’re here,” she announced softly when she parked in front of the hospital lot.

He startled, gaze pulled away from the shopping plaza across the way. “Thanks,” he murmured, flashing her a tight smile before grabbing his bag and climbing out.

“Bellamy,” Clarke called out right before he slammed the door shut.

He bent down, looking at her expectantly. “Yeah?”

Her words caught in her throat for a few seconds too long before she was able to say, “Take care of yourself.”

Not even the swash of messy hair falling over his eyes could hide the warmth and gratitude in them. “Will do.”

The door clicked shut, and she watched Bellamy walk away, shoulders hunched and hands jammed into his pockets, as if he was carrying more weight than just the small duffle hitched over one shoulder.  _He’s just a patient_ , Clarke repeated to herself, knowing she had done as much as she could for him–more than enough, her friends might say.

So after one last look, she slammed on the gas, racing out of the lot before she could roll down the window and yell at him to get back in the car.

* * *

Clarke did a surprisingly good job at keeping thoughts of Bellamy far from her mind until that evening when Raven came home, flopping down on the couch between her and Monty.

“Here you go,” she said, then flicked some things at her. “And what the hell are we watching?”

“Miller’s choice,” Maya said, not even bothering to hide her satisfaction with that answer.

“ANTM is a good show, okay,” her fourth roommate said through his teeth.

“Raven!” Clarke finally choked, hurriedly gathering the condom packets now sprinkled over her lap.

“What?” Raven said with a smug grin. “Now you won’t have an excuse to not sleep with him the next time you bring him home.”

“Who’s him?” Monty asked curiously.

“Nobody,” Clarke said through gritted teeth, glaring at Raven.

Unfortunately, her friend ignored her. “Hot patient guy that Clarke took home for a night as a stray and stupidly decided to not get laid by. He slept on the couch, for god’s sake.”

“Seriously? I thought we said no more of that after Jasper squatted here for three months,” Miller complained.

“Yeah, but nobody wanted to sleep with Jasper,” Raven shot back.

“I didn’t want to sleep with Bellamy!” Clarke exclaimed.

Miller snorted, Monty looked down at his feet, and Maya sent her a sympathetic, almost pitying smile.

Clarke felt her lips twist down sourly, because apparently all of her roommates were ganging up on her. “I sent him on his way, so you can take these back.”

Raven ignored her again, staring at the TV and starting to mock the competition, which had Miller fired up in no time. As Clarke listened to them argue, she stacked the packets into a nice pile, running her fingers over the sharp edges, making no real effort to actually return them. When she knew everyone’s focus was on the TV, she slipped them into the pocket of her sweatpants.

She probably wouldn’t see Bellamy again, that she was almost sure of, but still, it wouldn’t hurt to keep what Raven had given her, just in case.

* * *

They didn’t do her much good when she ran into him less than a week later, though, as she wasn’t wearing her sweatpants, but dirty scrubs, and after another grueling shift, she certainly wasn’t in the mood to be sexy. Actually, she was concerned and more than a little bit pissed off. 

With her usual post-late shift cup of lukewarm decaf coffee in hand, she stared disbelievingly through Bellamy’s frost-covered car window, watching him sleep curled up in his backseat. His car was parked behind the coffee shop she frequented, and her eyes narrowed on the familiar apron slung across him as a blanket. 

Blood pressure rising, she banged against the window, the side of her hand leaving wet marks on the glass. Bellamy swore loudly, thrashing as he sat up. When he finally focused on her, his cheeks flushed red–not from the cold–and he glared at her. 

“Follow me home, idiot,” Clarke barked, not missing the stitches now absent from his forehead.

She knew that he had taken them out himself, because there had been no record of him returning to the hospital (of course she had checked, and of course she hadn’t been surprised when he hadn’t returned–though she had been unexpectedly disappointed).  _Of all the moronic things_ , she fumed as she stomped back to her car.

Clarke sat idling for a good ten minutes before she heard the low rumble of his engine start up, and the whole way home she kept glancing in her rearview, making sure his headlights didn’t disappear.

When they pulled up, Bellamy exited his car without a word, sulking as he trudged behind her up to the front door.

“You’re incredibly stupid, you know, sleeping in your car when it’s going to drop below forty at night,” she hissed, too frustrated to get the keys into the lock on the first try. 

“Not all of us have our own house, bought and paid for,” he growled back as he finally followed her inside.

Clarke pressed her lips together, biting back a harsh retort, because he was right. She was lucky to have a house, even one full of ghosts and melancholy memories.

Even so, his tone grated on her, so she bit out, “You know where the blankets and pillows are. Use them.”

Tossing her keys onto the counter, she made for the stairs, not even bothering to take her shoes off.

“Clarke.”

She stopped halfway up the stairs, her pulse racing as she turned to look at Bellamy.

War raged across his shadowed face: lips pursed stubbornly, brow softening in gratitude, jaw ticking with frustration, eyes pleading apology. 

“Thanks. Again.” He shifted, arms unfolding to hang helplessly by his side. As always, his shoulders were hunched, and Clarke flexed her hands, resisting the itch she had to find a way to take the tension from them.

“Anytime. And I mean it,” she whispered finally, shooting him a ghost of a smile before retreating upstairs.

Whether it was the coffee or the unsettling feeling that washed over her when she thought of the way Bellamy shivered in his sleep, Clarke remained wide awake, despite her exhaustion. Instead, she turned an idea over and over in her head, thinking of solid reasons to win Miller over, legitimate arguments to stave off Raven’s innuendoes, and how much work it would take to finish clearing out the attic space upstairs. 

Those things were manageable, though, so all she really had left to do was convince him to stay.

She snorted, staring blankly at her ceiling as she pictured just how kindly Bellamy would receive her offer. Not well at all, that much she was certain of, even if she agreed to have him pay rent. He was too proud; she would probably be just the same way, so she didn’t blame him at all. 

Still, she wouldn’t go down without a fight, because somehow, Clarke just knew that he was worth fighting for. 


	2. Chapter 2

When Clarke walked downstairs the next morning, she froze. Miller, dressed in his running gear, was sitting on the edge of the recliner facing the couch, munching on his old-man wheat bran cereal, and staring at Bellamy.

“Morning!” She said cautiously, trying to assess whether Miller had turned on Bellamy yet. He was not a morning person, and also had never gotten over Jasper’s stay with them. None of them really had, and Clarke shuddered at the memory. Monty’s childhood friend was a sweet guy but a horrendous roommate. The only one who had liked him was Raven, and only because he had helped her build and then explode rockets in the backyard, much to the terror of everybody else.

Miller grunted at her, and Bellamy turned around just as she reached the back of the couch. Glancing down, she saw that she had no reason to worry, because he also had a bowl of old-man cereal.

“Did you tell him we have other–good–kinds of cereal?” Clarke demanded, squinting at Miller.

“His choice,” Miller retorted, shrugging with a hint of smugness tugging at his lips.

Clarke looked at Bellamy skeptically.

“My choice,” he confirmed with a nod.

With a snort, she ambled into the kitchen. As she made and then ate her toast, along with a very large cup of coffee, she listened to the crunching and slurping of the two men in the living room. Their silence itched at her, as did her impatience to explain her proposal to Bellamy. When he came into the kitchen, glancing at her for only a quick moment before turning to wash off his dishes, she had to bite her lip to keep from saying anything.

She should probably ask her roommates first, she debated, watching Bellamy rinse down the sink. They had used the forgiveness over permission policy against her before, though, so maybe it was her turn to cash in on it.

“What are you up to today?”

Bellamy shot her a puzzled look over his shoulder, and Clarke flashed an awkward grimace at him.  _You’re not roommates yet_ , she chided herself.

“Work,” he said, shrugging.

“You have a job?”

The look he shot her this time was a bit scathing.  “It’s new,” he muttered, slamming the nozzle back into its holder by the faucet. “So the car is all I can afford at the moment. But yeah, I have a job.”

“Sorry.”

“What are  _you_  up to today?” He shot back, crossing his arms over his chest, a hint of humor in the uplift of his lips.

“Work,” she replied wryly.

“Then I guess we’ll be commuting together.”

“What?”

“I work at Press _._ ”

“Oh,” Clarke said, then grinned sheepishly. So that’s why she had found him at her favorite coffee shop–which also was one of those new book-and-bar type of places, so he was no doubt working as the bartender on weekends too. 

“Vera, the owner–

“I know Vera,” she interrupted, and Bellamy raised his eyebrows. “She’s a family friend.”

With her mother and Marcus having been friends since high school, Vera was like a grandmother to Clarke. Even now she always gave, or tried to give, her free coffee– _I can’t believe you’re all grown up_  she’d say with a sigh as she handed her the drink–but that wasn’t the only reason Clarke liked going to Press. The feeling of community, of peace, was overwhelming. That was something didn’t get to experience too often anymore–the hospital was chaotic, and home even more so with her four roommates.

“Well,” Bellamy continued. “She said I could park in the back, you know. I wasn’t squatting.”

“Of course she did. And you probably lied to her and said you’d stay in the shop when she found out you’ve been sleeping in your car and refused to let you continue to do that, hm?”

Bellamy sniffed, giving himself away, so she went on, “And I didn’t have a problem with the squatting. I had a problem with the exposure to freezing temperatures.”

“I told you, I wasn’t squatting. And the temp was not going to drop below freezing last night.”

She had to swallow a laugh at the overly disgruntled expression pinching his face. She had been right; the pride thing was going to be an issue. Deciding to let it go for the moment, she merely hummed, shrugged, then stood to get ready for work.

“I’ll be ready in twenty,” she called out over the banister when she got upstairs.

Bellamy didn’t respond, but Raven did, swearing from behind her closed bedroom door. “Just because you have to be up at the ass crack of dawn does not mean we all do!”

“Hot stuff, if you get any more beauty sleep, then it just won’t be fair to the rest of us,” Clarke teased before darting into her room to change.

Twenty-six minutes later–her hair was not cooperating today–she flew down the stairs, hoping Bellamy had waited for her. He had, though he started his engine and began to back out of the driveway before she even unlocked her car.

Sighing, she followed him to the hospital, wishing she had time to stop for a coffee before her shift. It would have to wait, though, as would her conversation with Bellamy.

* * *

Patience was never her strong suit, though. So, on her afternoon break, she hustled over to Press, and not just to get her caffeine boost of the day. Bellamy gave her a nod when she entered, then took care of the three customers ahead of her.

“You have a minute?” She asked as she paid.

He shrugged. “Not really.”

“Yes, he does, honey!” Vera called out from the back. “I told him to take an hour lunch break, and he only used fifteen minutes. Consider it like rollover minutes.”

Bellamy rolled his eyes, but his lips quirked upwards. “Yes, ma’am.”

After making her large regular coffee, Bellamy walked out from behind the counter but didn’t move far from it. With a serious expression, he leaned back against the pickup area, arms crossed over the apron he hadn’t bothered to take off.

“What’s up?”

Clarke took a hasty sip of her large, plain coffee. She had planned out what she was going to say at lunch, but now the words stuck in her throat. There were so many ways that this could go wrong, and she really didn’t want to ruin it.

“Um,” she finally said. “Well, if you’ve noticed, I have kind of a big house.”

“Yes,” Bellamy drawled. “Hard to miss.”

Her cheeks warmed a little, nervous that she had already set a weird tone for this conversation. “You also know I have roommates.”

“You must really think that concussion did a number on me, or that I’m just naturally unobservant. Yes, I noticed your roommates. Again, hard to miss.”

She glared at him, her fingers tightening on her to-go cup, even as the burning surface singed her palms. He was so prickly, even now, for no reason.  “Well, smartass, did you know we still have one room open?”

Satisfaction unfurled in her at the way his eyes widened. Then understanding flickered in them, and they narrowed. “I’m not a charity case,” Bellamy said sharply.

“I’m just saying there is a room open, if you want it.”

“I can’t afford a room. End of story.” He pushed off, walking behind the counter again.

“We can work something out,” she shot back, determined.

“I said I’m not your damn charity case,” he growled, whipping around to face her again. “Find somebody else to use to soothe your rich-girl guilt.”

The fury in his eyes was nothing to her, but the malice in his tone stung.

“Fine,” Clarke snapped. “I hope your toes freeze off the next night you spend in that car.”

“I don’t think it’s my toes you’re worried about, princess!”

“No. Just your pride, but trust me, nobody will be sorry to see that go!” She yelled as she stormed out of the shop.

When she got back to the hospital, she was still fuming. Her fellow interns gave her a wide berth as they rounded on patients, and Dr. Wallace had nearly sent her from his surgery on account of her attitude.

“What bit  _you_  in the ass today?” Anya asked.

Clarke flicked a glance at her head resident. “Nothing.”

Anya snorted, and Clarke’s glance turned into a glare.

“Oh, I like you better when you’re bitter,” Anya said with a serene smile, handing her a chart. “Now go take care of these post-ops.”

She managed to keep her cool around patients, at least, and Mr. Lemkin’s daughter, Reese, even made her smile with a series of jokes that were pretty clever for a ten-year-old.

It was dark when she bundled up in her coat and shuffled out into the parking lot. The chilly fall wind was doing its best to pull the rest of her bedraggled hair from her lopsided bun, and it nipped at her cheeks until they tingled.

The tingle turned into a burn when she spotted Bellamy leaning against her car. Hunched over a large to-go cup from Press, he looked up from his shoes just as Clarke stopped in her tracks. Without a word, he extended the drink, lips flexing up into a grim smile.

“I’ll take the room,” he said as she reached for the offered drink.

She eyed him warily as she sipped. She was about to ask  _why now_  when the taste of chocolate and cinnamon burst on her tongue. “How did you know?” Clarke asked in surprise, tipping the specially made drink–the one she only ordered on particularly bad days to warm her up, from the inside out–towards him in indication.

He shrugged. “Vera.”

“Nice to know she’ll easily tell my secrets to strangers.”

Bellamy looked away, almost guiltily, and the frothy, sweetened coffee flavor in her mouth soured.

“She told you, didn’t she?” Clarke pressed. “About my parents.”

It had been all over the local news a few years back, how Ark Hospital–the second largest hospital in the pine tree state, right outside of Portland–had skimped on buying new backup generators even though they knew one bad winter storm would take out the existing ones, potentially endangering the lives of nearly half the hospital’s patients. What hadn’t been all over the local news was that her dad, an engineer for the hospital, had been the one to figure it out, though he had died in a car crash before it had come to light; neither had the role her mother and Marcus had played in covering up the story, at least for a time, or why and how it had driven Clarke into an estrangement with her mother, at least until last year when she’d moved home to intern at Ark.

How much of that Vera–who knew of the story from her son’s involvement–had revealed in detail was questionable, but Clarke was sure enough had been, so she sighed.

Bellamy relaxed at the sound. “Yeah, she did. And look, I’m sorry, about earlier. The rich-girl comments.”

“Now who’s the one charity case-ing.”

“It’s a cup of fancy coffee.”

“Pity coffee.”

“Better than pity rent,” he shot back, but it was with a small half-smile.

“So you want to come see your room? No take-backs, by the way. A verbal agreement is just as binding as a written one.”

“That’s bull.”

“Just get in your car and follow me.”

With a beleaguered sigh that she sensed was only half-genuine, Bellamy took out his keys and did as she asked. Smiling, she gulped down the rest of her drink before doing the same.

* * *

“Good thing I’m not afraid of spiders.”

Clarke grimaced as Bellamy waved away cobwebs that she couldn’t quite see in the shadowy attic, lit by just the one old, exposed lightbulb.

“Sorry.”

“No wonder the rent is so low,” he added dryly.

“I told you, it’s not pity rent!”

Bellamy just snorted, then tossed his duffle down on the ground next to the bed. Clarke pretended to not see the puff of dust that rose up from the floor at the impact.

“I’ll clean it this weekend, since I don’t have more than a few hours off until then,” she offered.

“I am not as helpless as you think. I know how to clean. And do you ever sleep?”

“Doctors are the real vampires, didn’t you know?”

“Makes sense. Easy access to the blood banks and all.”

Clarke stared at him for a second before laughing. Shrugging, Bellamy took two strides and plopped down onto the bed, whose springs squeaked loudly.

“I can get a new bed frame this weekend, too,” she added in a hurry.

“Clarke,” he said, sighing. “Really, it’s fine. Better than my car seats, for sure.”

“Oh really,” she commented but threw him a soft smile to soften the blow.

“Really.”

The sincerity in his voice made her look away, shifting from one foot to the other.

“Um, there is a communal food list that we all pitch in for, but the bulk of the stuff we each buy on our own,” she rambled, glancing up at the rafters and then at the grimy windows. “Monty doesn’t care if you steal some of his groceries occasionally, but Raven and Maya will sabotage your laundry if you touch their food. Miller doesn’t do snacks, so yours are safe from him. There’s a cleaning schedule we’ll work you into, and utilities are included in rent–”

“I know,” Bellamy interrupted in an amused tone. “You told me earlier. And by earlier, I mean three minutes ago, when we walked in downstairs.”

Clarke shot a glance at him, with his tired eyes but warm grin. “Okay then.” She blew out a breath and turned to go.

“Good night,” he murmured behind her, and she replied the same, her voice just as quiet.

* * *

Clarke had barely shuffled into the kitchen the next morning when Raven blurted, “We voted. We’re keeping him.”

Finally, it registered that she was the last one up, and panic set in as her roommates looked at her with amused and expectant expressions. Bellamy was seated between Raven and Monty, glowering at her over his mug.

“You might have told me you hadn’t asked your roommates yet about this idea,” he rasped.

“Lucky for you, you’re actually already proving to be a good roommate,” Monty chimed in. “He made breakfast.”

“I made toast,” Bellamy muttered.

“Yeah, but you didn’t burn it like Jasper always did,” Miller offered. “Or set the toaster, or the house, on fire.”

“And lucky for you, landlady, Miller likes him,” Maya teased.

“Sorry?” She offered with a sheepish grin to them all.

“Don’t be. Clarke, it’s your house,” Raven said.

She let out a noise of frustration, because they had been over this before. “No, it’s–”

“Our house,” her obnoxious roommates mockingly finished for her.

Clarke rolled her eyes, and Bellamy looked a little startled at the pronouncement, as if he wasn’t sure what exactly he had gotten himself into.

“Don’t worry,” Raven assured him with a slap to the back. “You’ll be drinking the Kool-Aid in no time.”

“Only if it’s grape flavored,” he retorted.

That got a laugh out of everyone, even Miller, though he tried to hide it by shoving toast in his mouth.

“Who’s turn is it for a beer run?” He mumbled, spewing crumbs everywhere.

“Mine!” Maya said, standing. “Monty, you mind coming with me?”

They were gone within a few minutes, and then Raven turned to Bellamy. “You a football fan?”

“I’m guessing there’s only one answer to that question,” he commented dryly, eyeing everyone else, including Clarke, who were already dressed in their game-day gear.

Raven laughed. “I knew I liked you, but I’m withholding judgement until you tell us who you root for.”

“And if I say no one?”

“You scoffed when Miller was praising Brady earlier, so don’t even try to pretend you don’t have a bias.”

“You don’t like Brady?” Clarke cut in.

“Oh no,” Miller grumbled. “You’ve done it now.”

“I think he’s overrated. I mean, if you look at his stats compared to–”

“Do not even,” she spluttered.

“What’re you going to do? Throw me out?” Bellamy taunted. “I thought you said no take-backs.”

Clarke scrunched her nose, letting him sweat for a second. He didn’t look too concerned. In fact, he almost looked relieved. As she tracked their conversation back, she realized he was avoiding talking about his favorite team, his hometown team, and not just out of contrariness.

“Fine,” she sniffed. “But keep your disparaging and  _incorrect_  comments to a minimum, at least on Sundays.”

“Noted,” he agreed with a satisfied grin.

The four of them soon busied themselves with cleaning up breakfast and preparing for the day, because the Griffin-Reyes-Vie-Miller-Green household did NFL Sundays right: snacks galore, casual drinking, and games or commentary on in the background all day. She was lucky her roommates were enthusiastic about football as she was, though Monty and Raven had been converts after moving in, and it had taken some time for Raven to not root for the Ravens just because they shared a name. Maya and Miller had been raised on it just like Clarke had though, and that made her even forgive Maya’s preference for the Broncos. As Clarke watched Bellamy get into a heated discussion about the top defensive lines in the league, she was almost glad that he wasn’t a Pats fan, only for Maya to finally have an ally.

“So, you’re really not going to tell us who your team is?” Clarke asked him softly when it was just the two of them. “We’re going to find out eventually, you know.”

He set down the bowls of popcorn and pretzels on the coffee table without looking at her. “Why does it matter so much?”

“It doesn’t to us, but it seems to matter to you.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

Clarke sighed, knowing he was reluctant to give over that piece of information simply because it might tell them where he was from. Bellamy didn’t seem to want to reveal anything personal, especially something like that. So, she cautiously said, “My dad was from San Fran, but he wasn’t a 49ers fan.”

Bellamy froze, clearly catching her drift. He shifted on his feet, then turned to face her, an inscrutable expression on his face. “Ravens. They’re my team.”

Fighting a grin, Clarke turned back to the kitchen. “That’s fucking sad, Blake. The Ravens, really?”

“Shut up,” he mumbled.

“You better not sway any of my roommates’ loyalties,” she warned, collecting some napkins to bring out.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied wryly.

After a beat, she dared to guess, “So, you’re from Baltimore?”

He frowned at her for a second before nodding.

“Cool,” she said with a shrug. “I went to Hopkins for med school.”

Bellamy snorted as he grabbed a glass of water. “Did you even step foot off campus?”

“Yes,” Clarke replied testily. “And yes, I also knew plenty of my classmates who were elitist enough not to. Trust me, I know my school’s reputation.”

He watched her for a while before shaking his head. “So am I allowed to wear non-Patriots paraphernalia in the house? Or will that get me shitty chores on the chore wheel?”

Clarke chucked a piece of popcorn at him. “Don’t be a dick. I don’t make the rules in the house. We’re a democracy here.”

“Well, could’ve fooled me,” he drawled.

She chucked another few pieces of popcorn at him, and he retaliated with some pretzels. Before it took a turn for the worse, and the messier, Monty and Maya returned, carrying two six-packs each. After the others had done so, Bellamy popped a bottle for himself, and then Clarke, and settled on the couch next to Miller without a word. Clarke was the last one to take her seat, and satisfaction unfurled warmly in her chest as she watched Bellamy, sipping and snacking and yelling at the refs with the rest of them, fitting in like he had always belonged.

* * *

“It’s unnerving,” Raven complained three weeks later when she joined Clarke for lunch at the hospital. “He’s the perfect roommate. Well, except when he gets all grumpy when talking, or I guess  _not_  talking, about his personal life, but still. He  _cleans_ , Clarke. Not even Jasper cleaned.”

“Jasper cleaned alright, but only after he made a mess, usually a fiery one,” Miller added, wiping ketchup off his scrubs.

Raven stole his last chicken finger in retaliation, grinning as he glowered at her. “You really need to get over that. It’s been, what, five months? Maya still won’t let him over because of you.”

“I told her I didn’t mind, as long as he stayed away from me.”

“Then stop complaining about it.”

“He singed off my eyebrows!”

“And yet Monty didn’t seem to mind, regardless,” Raven said with a smirk.

Miller swore at her as he stood, swiping his tray and stalking away.

“You’re terrible,” Clarke remarked.

“You don’t get to talk,” Raven said, pointing with her fry. “Instead of sleeping with Bellamy, whom you are clearly very much into, you ask him to be our roommate. Like that won’t end in disaster.”

“He was staying in his car! What was I supposed to do?”

Raven just chomped on her fries without saying a word, still grinning.

Clarke stabbed at her salad moodily, taking a few bites as she contemplated revenge, which finally dawned on her. “You’re still coming up to camp, right?”

“Yeah. I made sure my shift was covered that weekend.”

“Okay,” she said, starting to feel smug. “Then if the whole house is going, that’s six of us, because of Bellamy, and then with Jasper and Wells, it makes eight.”

She could practically hear Raven swallow. “Wells is coming?”

“Yes,” Clarke replied evenly.

“Hmph,” Raven hummed, and that was that.

It was killing Clarke to know with only half-certainty that something was brewing between her best friend and her roommate, as much as either of them denied it. Well, Raven was certainly denying it; Wells mostly danced around her questions out of courtesy to Raven, no doubt. Inviting him to camp with them had been a strategic decision on her part, because spending the long weekend in tight quarters, even with everybody else around, was bound to tip the scale one way or the other. Maybe it was none of her business, but it was Wells–they always messed around in each other’s personal lives. Clarke couldn’t help it after so many years of doing so, even if her roommate didn’t appreciate it.

Before her curiosity got the best of her and she pushed Raven for more details, her pager beeped. “Sorry, Rae,” she said, glancing at the message. “I’ve got to go.”

“Sinclair is probably waiting for me anyways,” her friend offered. “Good luck on your surgery.”

“Don’t break any limbs!” Clarke called out in farewell.

* * *

Her shift ended early that day, and, as quickly had become a habit, she found herself at Press, seated in one of the large comfy chairs among the bookshelves, sketching all kinds of things. Though she made sure to be away from the bustling cafe tables–partly to distance herself from the noise, partly to give herself more opportunities to people-watch–she was still close enough to glance up at Bellamy while he worked. He’d smile at her, or roll his eyes when a customer ordered something particularly atrocious. He would also frown at her every time she paid for her drinks.

“You’re going to get me in trouble with Vera,” he warned. “She said coffee is always on the house for you.”

“And I’ve told her that is ridiculous,” Clarke bantered back. “Just take the money, Bellamy.”

He did, his fingers clasping over hers, the feel of his calloused skin sending a slight shiver down her spine, every time.

That wasn’t the only thing they argued about either. He was well-versed in art history, her minor in college, and had endless, infuriating opinions about her favorite topics. He would scoff, and she would splutter, but it would always end in a grudging compromise and reluctant but satisfied smiles. Raven wasn’t entirely wrong, persay, Clarke realized as she caught herself watching Bellamy’s arms flex as he cleaned the machines, or as she endlessly sketched his hands, or as she grinned at the way his words tumbled out faster, less cohesive when he got really worked up about some historical event or another. She was a little bit–read: a lot–into him. Raven was also right, though, about roommates hooking up ending in disaster. There was a reason neither Miller or Monty had made a move on the other, though Clarke knew it was a matter of time in their case.

When it came to Bellamy, however, she resolved to not go there. Still, she couldn’t help wonder if camp’s close quarter would have an effect on her too, and so she put off telling him about the trip until the last possible day.

“So, we do this thing,” she started out, leaning over the counter as Bellamy began closing.

“You do a thing?”

She ignored his teasing. “Every year, the house goes up to camp, in Grand Lake. It’s right outside of Calais, on the border of New Brunswick. It’s kind of tradition.”

“So I’m guessing that saying I’m not an outdoors person will not get me out of this.”

Clarke grinned. “Nope.”

“Camping? You? Really?”

She bristled, about to correct him. It was confusing to non-Mainers, but ‘camp’ was just another term for ‘house’, not ‘squatting on a patch of woods in a tent’ like most people assumed the term meant, at least in this context. Clarke had gone camping before too, but ‘camp’ to her was the house her father had built on the little lake up north, their home away from home. It had running water, barely, and was small enough to require squashing too many people into too few bedrooms. Still, it was a good time, especially now that her friends came up with her, chasing away the ghosts that still lingered there for her.

“Yes,” she replied slowly, deciding to tease him, just this once, because of the sheer doubt he had exuded at the thought of her in the wilderness. “We’re going to camp. And so are you.”

Her wording was still deliberately vague, something she could use in her defense later, when he realized her trick. No doubt he’d be pissed when he did, but for now, she took great pleasure in the way Bellamy’s eyes widened, surprise and then a smidge of nervousness flaring in them.

“You really expect me to go?”

“Yes,” she replied firmly. “I’m sure Vera will give you the time off. She knows about this trip.”

He hesitated, looking at her from under his messy curls. “Fine.”

His tone was subdued, and she nearly broke, practically able to see his mind whirring, trying to figure out how he was going to survive, what he thought was, a weekend in the woods. She very much looking forward to seeing the expression on his face when they pulled up to the lake house instead of a clearing in the forest.

“Be ready Friday at five,” she chimed, backing out the door. “Oh, and bring bug spray.”

The dark look he sent her finally made her laugh out loud, and she waved at him triumphantly as she danced out to her car.

She’d have to give her roommates a heads up, but they’d more than likely join in on the fun, treating it as Bellamy’s initiation.

_He can take it_ , Clarke mused as she drove home in the dark, winding along fence-lined, tree-covered back roads. Whether or not she could take being in such close proximity to him for a whole three days was another story, and one she put far from her mind for the moment, instead concentrating on the way the red and gold trees glowed dimly in the moonlight.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slipping towards the door, Clarke shuffled her boots on and grabbed her own coat, as well as Bellamy’s before heading out the door.
> 
> Her breath turned grey-white in the chilly night air, and leaves crunched under her feet as she walked towards the dock, towards Bellamy’s shadowed silhouette. Just as she started to call out his name, he jerked the phone away from his ear and swore.
> 
> “Bellamy?”
> 
> She watched him tense, then glance over his shoulder scowling. “Does this godforsaken place have any fucking cell service?”
> 
> “Yeah,” she snapped, defensive as ever about her father’s favorite place. “About twenty yards in front of you. Why don’t you jump on in and try it out?”
> 
> “Some of us have responsibilities, princess,” he sneered. “Can’t always just skip off the grid on a whim.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this has been hanging out in my google drive almost finished for ages - finally tackled it today.

 Unfortunately, Jasper spilled the beans before they even got on the road, so Bellamy sulked for the first hour of the drive. It was only when Clarke flicked her blinker on and followed Maya’s car off the exit that he finally made a sound.

“What?” She asked, sparing a glance back towards him in the rearview.

“We’re stopping again?” He asked.

“Jasper has a small bladder,” she sighed. “I should’ve warned you.”

“It’s dinnertime anyways,” Wells added. “We should make this a food stop, too.”

“Weren’t we going to go to that diner in Bangor?” Miller asked. “I remember, their burgers were awesome.”

“Let’s just see what everybody else wants to do,” Clarke offered, pulling into the gas station. She tightened her grip on the steering wheel when she saw Bellamy’s smirk in the rearview. No doubt he was waiting to make some comment about her needing to mediate everything. What was she supposed to do, though? The one road trip she had decided to not make all the decisions for had ended with them stranded in the middle of Vermont, and Jasper being chased through the field by a herd of cows. Never again, she had vowed, though the way Bellamy was looking at her made her want to throw the keys at him, let him deal with her crazy friends for a change.

As they got out of the car, though, she resisted the urge, because nobody drove Jeanine except her. She could see Raven, Monty and Maya inside the gas station, no doubt waiting for Jasper. Not so subtly, Miller wandered in that direction, hands buried in his pants pockets, and Wells snorted.

"You really want to go there, Mr. Reyes?" Clarke taunted.

Wells just hooked an arm around her neck, pulling her head down so he could scruff up her hair. Shrieking, she pinched his middle, making him twist around, but he took her with him. As his feet got twisted, he let her go, and she stumbled back, straight into solid warmth. Hands came up to cup her elbows, steadying her.

"You okay?" Bellamy asked.

Clarke craned her head around, feeling her cheeks flush as she looked up at him. "Yeah, fine."

It took him a second to pull away, and he cleared his throat as he stepped back. "Yeah. Okay. I'm going to go inside and round them up."

Clarke barely got out a nod before Bellamy strode off. Wells whistled quietly, and without even looking, Clarke lightly smacked his chest.

"Don't," she warned.

"Whatever do you mean?" He teased.

"Just--don't."

Wells' grin faded. "You're serious about him, then."

"No," she said hastily, then paused. "I mean--I am serious about not getting involved with him."

"What? Why?"

"He's clearly going through something, and I'm not going to make it harder."

Raising his eyebrows, he waited for her to elaborate. After a minute of debate, she scrunched her face at him in defeat.

“Fine. I overheard him leaving a message for someone a few days ago--it wasn’t a happy conversation.”

“So?”

“It was for a girl. They obviously had a fight, a bad one, and he ran. Who knows if they’re even broken up? I’m not going to get in the middle of that. Not again.”

“It worked out with Raven.”

Clarke sighed. “That’s because it’s Raven. And me. We’re special like that.”

“Yeah, I know, picking firsts and all,” Well said with a smile and a softening gaze he flicked towards the convenience store.

“She’s going to pick you too, someday,” Clarke offered quietly.

“I’m not so sure of that,” he muttered, scuffing his shoe against the pockmarked tar. “I mean, the sex is good--”

Clarke cut him off with a shriek. “That is a brand new development. Wait, you guys are really _?_ How did I miss this happening?”

“No idea,” he rasped, clearing this throat. “But yeah. We’re definitely--yeah, we’re doing that now.”

Clarke grinned. “Well, color me jealous.”

“Shut up,” he grumbled, and she laughed.

She was still laughing, and Wells was still pouting, when the rest of the group came back. Raven flicked a knowing glance at her, and Clarke couldn’t help but grin and raise her eyebrows.

“So, dinner,” Wells interrupted, clearly wanting to distract her. “Thoughts?”

“I could eat,” Jasper chimed.

“You always can eat,” Miller grumbled.

“Maya, you want to keep driving, or do you need a break?” Clarke cut in before more sniping occurred.

“I can keep going, at least for a bit.”

With a decisive nod, she fished her keys out of her pocket. “Then let’s hit the road.”

* * *

 

Bellamy was a bit more vocal on the second leg of their journey, mostly because Miller got him talking about a TV show they were both into. It always surprised her that Miller liked cop shows, given that his dad was police chief and he had a lot of opinions about the police. It was why he had become a doctor, having seen one too many of his father’s friends get sent to the hospital with life-threatening injuries. _I want to actually save lives, not just protect them_ , he had said to her one night during their intern year when they had ended up sitting on the living room floor taking tequila shots after a week of hellish overnight shifts.

The radio suddenly decided to blare to life--Jeanine was getting up there in age, Clarke couldn’t deny it--and she grinned. Her favorite country station up here finally had come into range.

“Aw, no,” Wells groaned, his hand reaching for the dial.

Clarke slapped his hand away. “Don’t you dare!”

“Isn’t it a rule that the front seat passenger gets to pick the radio station?” Miller piped up in support of Wells, as they both shared a very strong hatred for country music.

“What type of rule is that?”

“I don’t know, the rule for practically every road trip and every car in existence.”

“My car, my rules.”

“My ears are bleeding, Clarke. Make it stop.”

“Let’s take a vote,” Wells suggested. “All in favor of changing the station?”

Clarke saw Wells’ hand shoot up, and she didn’t even have to look to know Miller’s was also sky-high. He groaned in defeat though, and she flicked a surprised look at Bellamy in the rearview.

“You like country?”

“Yes,” he replied, a smile in his voice.

“I’m surprised.”

“You keep assuming things about me, and you keep being wrong,” Bellamy replied. “Continue, though, please. I’m enjoying proving you wrong.”

“Jerk,” she muttered, but her the corners of her mouth tugged up into a smile.

Miller sighed heavily, and kept doing so every time the song changed, right up until they pulled into the parking lot of the diner he had talked nonstop about since they last time they traveled up this way.

“Aw yeah,” he cried, flinging his seatbelt off as Clarke put the car in park. “I’m getting, like, three of their oreo milkshakes.”

“Never say I don’t love you,” Clarke remarked dryly, getting out of the car.

“You don’t suck, Griffin. Just your music does.”

She flipped him off, but he was too busy pushing through the glass doors to respond.

“So is there something magical about these milkshakes?” Bellamy asked as he followed her to the table where Miller was sitting, already looking at a menu.

“Not in the least,” she murmured. “But he might stop speaking to me if he hears me saying that.”

“Your secret is safe with me.”

Clarke buried her chin in her jacket collar so Bellamy wouldn’t see her smile.

The rest of their friends arrived in a burst of noise, with Jasper and Monty racing each other to the large table, jostling and hassling each other as only lifelong best friends could do.

“Suck it, Green,” Jasper gloated, slamming into the seat next to Wells. Clarke didn’t think it was a coincidence that he left the nearer seat to the aisle open for Monty, as it was right next to Miller. All things said--and disastrous explosions aside--Jasper was a pretty good wingman. “You owe me dinner.”

“Yeah, but you owe me for our Mario Kart tournament last month, so we’re even,” Monty replied with a grin.

“Shit,” Jasper muttered, dropping his chin atop his folded arms. “I forgot.”

Maya shook her head and dropped a kiss to his temple as she sat. When Raven finally seated herself, the lingering waitress ambled over, a tired smile on her face.

“What can I get you?”

Miller, of course, was the first one to blurt out his order, with the rest of them following in a slightly more collected manner. Clarke didn’t miss the spark in the waitress’s eyes when it was Bellamy’s turn, and her gut clenched at her interest.

“Nothing for me,” he replied, handing over the menu with a tight smile.

“You sure?” The woman chimed.

“I’m not hungry.”

Clarke turned her attention from the waitress to Bellamy, considering him carefully. He just looked from their server down to his hands in his lap, grimacing. She opened her mouth, but Wells knocked their knees together under the table as a warning. Frowning, she resisted making a comment, realizing he was probably worried about money.

Their food came, and the conversation died down as they all dug in. Bellamy seemed a bit more relaxed, playing with his drink straw while they ate, but Clarke made sure to only eat one half of her sliced-up burger.

“All set?” The waitress asked when she came back to clear their plates. “You want it wrapped up?”

“I’m full,” Clarke announced. “But if someone else wants it, go ahead.”

Bellamy stopped playing with the ice left in his glass.

“You want it?” She dared ask, nudging the plate towards him. “It’ll travel alright, if you want a snack later.”

His lips pursed, and for a second she was prepared for him to snap at her, but instead, he said, “Yeah, we’ll take it.”

He didn’t look at her while they paid for their meals, or while they walked back to the car, the styrofoam takeout box clutched tightly in his hands. Wells, being the obnoxious friend that he was, picked up on their interaction and darted for the backseat when they climbed into Jeanine.

“Figured I’d hogged shotgun enough,” he said mildly as Clarke jammed her keys into the ignition.

They followed Maya’s taillights back to the highway, and when they were again cruising along at a nice illegal speed, silence descended. She heard Miller pull out his music player at some point, and Wells started snoring about an hour later. The only sound from Bellamy was some absent humming to the twanging guitar playing through the speakers, though he stopped abruptly every time she moved her head even an inch in his direction.

“You didn’t have to take the leftovers, you know,” she said finally.

He grunted. “After you so obligingly sacrificed half your meal and went hungry, all for poor old me?”

“You got the old part right,” she grumbled. “You’re definitely more ornery than an old man. I should get you a broom to shake at people, and a lawn chair to sit in.”

“Well, she finally gets something right about me.”

She chanced a glance at him but the darkness obscured his expression. “How old are you, anyways?”

“That’s a little personal.”

“We live together. I’ve seen you with bedhead stumbling around looking for your glasses that you almost always step on and you’ve seen me come home in smelly scrubs with a stranger’s vomit in my hair. I’d say we’re close enough for personal.”

“Fine. I’m thirty-one.”

“Twenty-six,” she chimed. “I skipped a grade.”

“Jesus,” Bellamy muttered, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“Put your broom away,” she replied dryly. “I’m not that much younger. Besides, mentally I’m older than that.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“Better about what?”

Only the hum of the car engine answered her. The darkness pressed down around them as his weighted silence stretched, and Clarke pretended the sudden warmth in her cheeks was from the fiercely blowing heaters.

Bellamy stayed silent for a while, but then the squeak of styrofoam came from her right, making her smile.

“Good?” She asked when he let out a muffled approving groan at the food.

“Miller was right,” he mumbled, mouth full. “Best fucking burger I’ve ever had.”

Clarke kept smiling as they wove up the northern roads, headed for wilderness and starry skies. It was going to be a good weekend, she could feel it.

* * *

That night they ambled into the cabin with bleary eyes and stiff backs from so many hours of driving. Clarke didn’t even bother to flip more than the kitchen light on, her friends finding their way to beds from memory. She barely remembered to direct Bellamy to stay with Miller, Monty, and Wells--god, what was it with boys and loving bunk beds--before retreating to her own room with Raven.

She slept longer than she planned, waking when it was already bright out. As she ambled into the kitchen, she only shivered lightly, grateful that someone had dealt with the unpleasant ordeal of putting firewood into the stove.

Monty passed her a cup of coffee as she rounded into the kitchen, and she slipped him a fond smile.

“Who got groceries?” She asked, eyeing the fairly impressive breakfast spread on the rickety kitchen table.

“Maya,” Miller garbled through a mouth of eggs and bacon as Clarke pulled out her wallet, though Maya was shaking her head in denial of repayment. “She and Bellamy cooked.”

“She did most of it,” Bellamy said, turning around and nearly giving Clarke a heart attack because his hair was a nightmare of curls and he was wearing glasses and even after a month of living together, that sight would never not cause her to flush.

“Please,” Maya snorted. “I managed the bacon, mostly me stopping Jasper from eating it all before everyone else got up.”

“But bacon is the key dish,” he quipped back, smiling as he gestured at her with a spatula. “Not breakfast without bacon. My sister refuses to even eat in the morning if there’s not bacon.”

And just like that, his easy smile fell a bit, and he turned back to the stove without another word. Maya and Monty glanced at Clarke, who just shrugged, though she didn’t stop watching Bellamy’s broad back out of the corner of her eye. He was quiet the rest of the morning as a few of them prepared to go on a hike, though Clarke, Wells, and Raven were staying behind.

Raven was equally quiet sitting on the couch, glaring at Wells who was seated next to her and looking stubbornly back. He was definitely staying to keep Raven company--her leg injury from the accident last winter still wasn’t healed enough to go on a hike--and she was definitely pissed at him about it. Clarke debated getting involved, but it really wasn’t her can of worms to open.

Instead, she ignored them, settling onto the living room floor and pulling out a deck of cards once the rest of the group headed off. She started dealing onto the coffee table, though she had to start over when Bellamy sat down on the living room floor next to her.

“You stayed?” She asked, surprised at how he had gotten out of going. Maya was usually persistent with getting him involved in things, particularly things that were new or that he didn’t want to do.

“I told you, the outdoors are not really my style.”

Clarke resisted giving him a dubious look. She had seen him collecting firewood a little while ago though, his breath puffing white in the chilly air outside. It had been effortless for him, and he had even managed to unstick the shed door while he was out there. Even through the cabin window she had noticed how his muscles strained underneath his coat, ones she had seen in far too much detail whenever she ran into him coming out of the shower back at the house. By her view, he was most definitely suited to the outdoors.

“We’re playing Presidents,” she announced instead, scowling when he chuckled.

“So PC,” he teased. “Where I’m from, we just call it what it is.”

“Asshole?” Raven chimed in. “Well, that might get confusing, see, since that’s your na--”

She yelped as Wells pinched her, flicking his cheek with her finger in retaliation.

“It’s because we can’t swear around the children,” Clarke mock-whispered to Bellamy, smiling when Raven flipped her off and Wells frowned as he collected his cards.

Wells and Raven certainly got their revenge, dominating as president and vice for most of the rounds, something that would normally frustrate Clarke. Except--they were _flirting_ about it, and not their normal snarky flirting. She had to put her cards in front of her mouth to hide her grin; the last thing she needed was them noticing her amusement and getting all weird about it.

“You know, I thought you’d be better at this,” Bellamy remarked at the end of another round, as Wells and Raven were distracted by coming up with ridiculous campaign names.

Clarke made a face, tugging the deck out of his hand to deal. His fingers were warm and rough like always. “I’m having an off day.”

“Bet you don’t have many of those.”

“I don’t, in fact.”

“Must be hard, being so perfect.”

Clarke glanced at him sharply, because there wasn’t enough levity in his tone for that to be a joke. He avoided her gaze, staring intently at his cards instead.

As she opened her mouth to answer, the door banged open and a ridiculously bundled-up and red-cheeked Jasper sang out, “We have returned from the war! Welcome home your brave soldiers, we valient men and women who have conquered the forests of Washington County!”

He stood there with a pleased grin on his face, arms splayed wide as the rest of the hikers filed in behind him, rolling their eyes. Maya yanked him back, reminding him not to track mud in the house.

“Anybody made a booze run?” Miller asked hurriedly, bouncing on his toes by the door, clearly having reached his tolerance limit for Jordan’s antics.

“Not yet,” she replied, then glanced at Bellamy. He was still rearranging his cards, their conversation apparently forgotten--or ignored, more likely. Sighing, she stood, pretending she didn’t seen Raven watching her carefully.

“Tag in?” She asked Monty as she passed him, handing over her cards. “I need to get out for a while.”

Stepping outside into the cool fall air didn’t help much though, because her thoughts still ran a mile a minute and her nerves still vibrated with unease. Bellamy flaring hot and cold with her was old news by now, and she should be used to it. The more he opened up though--he had been a history major in college, he was obsessed with dogs, he knew how to make an excellent margarita--the more she expected the prickliness to subside. Still, every once in awhile, he would throw out a jab or a cryptic comment, and it rattled her.

When she jammed the keys into the ignition, Miller threw her a look.

“I’m fine,” she muttered.

“Must have been a hell of a card game,” he replied dryly.

“Another word, and I’ll make sure Jasper is your pong partner tonight.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

“You suck.”

“Then again, I could set it up so Monty is your partner.”

She laughed when he groaned, and suddenly she felt a lot better as she pulled onto the dirt road that led to town.

* * *

It wasn’t even eleven o’clock, and they had already gone through almost the whole thirty-rack Clarke had bought, and that was even without Miller’s help. He just had to have his craft IPA. _None of that Bud Light bullshit_ , he said with a grimace. It wasn’t a surprise they had made quick work of the alcohol though; there wasn’t much to do up north here this time of year, except to booze the night away.

Bellamy turned out to be very skilled at beer pong, much to Wells’ delight as his partner. Clarke and Raven were less thrilled, given their reigning title as pong queens was in severe danger of being stolen away.

“Re-rack,” Wells shouted tauntingly, hands cupped around his grinning mouth.

Clarke glared as she moved the final two cups into place. Wells missed on his turned--Raven cheered loudly, shimmying in celebration, something that made Wells smile as he took a sip of his drink--but Bellamy made his shot. Dragging the cup away, Clarke fished out the ball, flicking it twice to the side before bringing it up to throw.

“Elbows!”

Clarke scoffed at Bellamy’s refereeing. “Are you kidding me? It’s fine!”

“Elbows,” he repeated, his grin loose and cheeks red, tipsy as he was on beer and near victory.

With raised eyebrows and a pointed look, Clarke shuffled an inch back. Bellamy bobbed his head in acceptance, and she wasted no time lobbing the ball their way. Her hands shot up into the air when it landed in her target, bringing them down to three cups left.

“Don’t fuck it up, Raven!” Miller jeered from the couch, where he was sitting very close to Monty.

She rolled her eyes. “Can’t turn out worse than your face.”

Jasper echoed her jeering, growing louder when her shot made it in.

With a grin, Clarke bumped her hip against Raven’s in celebration, laughing and pulling her partner to her when she knocked her off balance a bit. As they steadied each other, giggling, Clarke heard Wells’ ball miss the shot--his skills really did decline fast when he got drunk--but Bellamy’s didn’t follow.

“What’s taking so long?” She drawled, turning back to their opponents with an impatient expression.

Instead of a smirking Bellamy, she founded a frowning one, phone pressed to his ear. His mouth pursed angrily, and then he left the room without even a second glance. Jasper and Miller both launched off the couch, eager to take his place. As Wells began to ask them for a one-minute summary of why they should be his new teammate, Clarke watched Bellamy walk outside, sneakers half-on and without a coat. She went to go follow him, to find out what was wrong, but Raven grabbed her arm.

“Oh no you don’t, partner. You’re not abandoning me.”

“I’ll be back in a second. Besides, it’s gonna take Wells forever to dec--”

At that moment, Jasper wobbled and knocked into the table, nearly sending all of the cups onto their sides, and Clarke sighed, knowing she had missed her window.

“Miller,” Wells exclaimed immediately, and Jasper whined but returned to the couch. Monty immediately pulled him into a game on his phone, and the two didn’t even watch as Clarke and Raven just managed to squeak out a victory.

Bellamy still wasn’t inside as they cleaned up, ready to play a more low-key game. As Raven sauntered over to shittalk-slash-flirt with Wells, Clarke saw her opportunity. Slipping towards the door, she shuffled her boots on and grabbed her own coat, as well as Bellamy’s before heading out the door.

Her breath turned grey-white in the chilly night air, and leaves crunched under her feet as she walked towards the dock, towards Bellamy’s shadowed silhouette. Just as she started to call out his name, he jerked the phone away from his ear and swore.

“Bellamy?”

She watched him tense, then glance over his shoulder scowling. “Does this godforsaken place have any fucking cell service?”

“Yeah,” she snapped, defensive as ever about her father’s favorite place. “About twenty yards in front of you. Why don’t you jump on in and try it out?”

“Some of us have responsibilities, princess,” he sneered. “Can’t always just skip off the grid on a whim.”

“Oh yes. As a doctor I have no idea about needing to be within reach at a moment’s notice.”

“You’re not working now!”

“Neither are you!”

“I wasn’t worried about work!”

“Then what?”

Her shout echoed over the water, refracting on the still surface, but his reply did not follow. He just sniffed, then rubbed his hand over his face. “None of your business.”

The lack of venom in his tone--the lack of any feeling at all, really--kept her from pushing for more; instead, she kept silent, watching him in the dark, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight.

“I just--there are people who need to get a hold of me.”

“People, or someone?”

He glanced at her appraisingly, a little bit wryly, as if he knew what she was asking. Then he shivered, and without hesitating, she rushed forward, handing over his coat hastily. With a thankful flex of his lips, he took it and put it on, fisting his hands inside his pockets immediately.

“My sister. My sister needs to get a hold of me.”

After another beat of silence--it seemed he wasn’t going to elaborate--Clarke stepped onto the dock herself, pushing past him to walk to the end. It was scary how relieved she was knowing that a sister, not a significant other, was at the heart of his constant tension. She closed her eyes, breathed in the crisp scent of pine that just barely overpowered the decaying scent of dying leaves, and said, “My dad liked it here in the summer, but he only really loved it in the fall.”

She smiled when she heard the creak of boards behind her, telling her Bellamy was drawing closer.

“Why?” He asked quietly when he was next to her, with none of the usual inquiries when she dropped the dad-past-tense on a stranger. It was a relief as much as it was telling; no doubt he had lost someone close to him too.

“The quiet. Mom used to tease him, because it’s not like Portland is a metropolis of any kind. ‘What do you need to come up into the colonial times for?’ she’d always ask. He’d just shrug and kiss her on the cheek, shaking his head, as if she’d never understand.”

“Do you? Understand?”

“No.” She felt him jerk his head towards her at that answer. “I don’t need to, though. It’s enough to be up here when he would’ve been the happiest.”

A loon’s cry echoed mournfully across the water, stopping her from saying more. Bellamy paused for a moment to listen, then shifted, as if deciding what to say next. He finally asked, “Is fall your favorite up here?”

“No,” she answered with a laugh, bending down to sit on the edge of the dock, legs crossed and feet tucked under her. “Definitely summer. A lot more to do, and taking the kayaks out are a blast.”

Bellamy settled next to her quickly, blowing on his hands for warmth. “What, no polar bear dips for you?”

“Hell no. Besides, I don’t want to set a precedent for everybody else. Treating frostbite is not how I want to spend my weekend off.”

“So much trust in your friends.”

She glanced at him dubiously, challengingly.

“Alright,” he chuckled. “Point taken. Jasper would freeze all of his extremities off.”

She laughed too, quietly, because the night was too still to do anything else. They stood there for another minute, not moving, not talking, and Clarke debated going back inside. Bellamy still radiated tension though, his shoulders too hunched and his jaw ticking as he clenched it. So instead, she lowered herself down onto the rough, slightly damp wood, letting out a grunt as she crossed her legs and scooted to the edge of the dock. She looked up at Bellamy and jerked her head at him to join her. Although his expression was dubious and his movements reluctant, he did sit right down next to her. His knee bumped hers as he moved up to the edge as well, forearms resting on his also crossed legs.

Clarke didn’t know when she started talking, but stories about her dad and this place suddenly poured out of her. She had kept them locked up for so long, behind sealed lips and a boarded-up heart, that once the dam broke, she couldn’t stop the flow from coming. Bellamy didn’t seem to mind though, keeping his hands busy by shredding pine needles and bits of pine cones with his large fingers before tossing or sprinkling them into the lakewater below. He’d ask a question here or there, let out a snort or a laugh when the story was funny.

When her memories finally ran out, she trailed off roughly, throat closing up. Anything left she had to tell him about Jake Griffin conjured up lingering smell of antiseptic that had burned into her nose while she sat in the hospital waiting room during the hours-long surgery that failed to save his life.

Warmth landed on her hand. She glanced over at Bellamy with watery eyes, giving him a weak smile when he squeezed her hand comfortingly.

“We should go inside,” he murmured.

He didn’t take his hand away for another few seconds, however. It was Clarke who finally, belatedly, nodded and then shifted to stand. They walked side by side back into the house, with leaves rustling softly under their feet. It was quiet when they entered. Their friends had obviously hit the sack a while ago. She sighed happily because someone had thankfully cleaned up from the partying. It would be nice to wake up tomorrow and not have the entire cabin smell like stale beer.

Bellamy followed her down the hall to their rooms. When he brushed past her to go into the bunk room, she inhaled sharply because the proximity of his warmth sent a shiver down her spine. So distracted, she didn’t quite realize the knob wasn’t turning in her hand, and she almost smacked her forehead on the still-closed door. Frowning, she jiggled the handle but quickly stopped when she heard rhythmic thumping coming from inside her and Raven’s room.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she laughed in exasperation under her breath. Sure, she was happy for Raven and Wells, but she really, really just wanted to go to bed.

“You too?”

She turned, seeing Bellamy walking back down the hall with pursed lips.

“Seriously?” she sighed. Then she gestured for him to follow her. Padding back into the living room, she started taking the cushions off the couch. “It’s a pullout. You can sleep here. I know we have sleeping bags somewhere that I can use.”

Bellamy stepped up beside her to help her jerk the stubborn mattress out. “We can share.”

“Really, I’ll be fine. There are sheets in the closet--”

“Clarke.”

She paused from smoothing out the mattress, looking up at Bellamy. “Alright,” she said quietly with a small smile. We can share.”

They didn’t say much else as they finished making up the bed and getting ready to sleep. Clarke wished she looked a little less ridiculous in her sleepwear, which consisted of thick baggy sweatpants, an oversized paint-stained hoodie, neon fuzzy socks, and her hair in a very messy bun. The cabin got cold at night, though, and she figured it would mean better sleep despite the less-than-attractive look she was sporting.

She tried not to stare at Bellamy as he got into bed, but he looked as good in his pajamas--which were really just grey sweatpants and a very loose t-shirt--here as he did at home. At home, though, she never got close enough to see how many holes were in the shirt or to realize how it was so thin that it really did nothing to stop his heat from seeping through and getting caught under the covers, warming her up instantly.

“Ready for lights off?” he rumbled.

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Her voice might not even work at this point, considering. He leaned over, reaching for the lamp on the side table, and then they were thrown into pitch black. The sofa bed creaked as he settled down next to her, pulling the blankets out of her grip a little bit.

“Night,” he murmured, turning on his side away from her.

It was a good thing, because then he couldn’t see her staring at his shadowy form in the dark. She was too tired to resist looking at him, the strong slope of his shoulders and the broad expanse of his back. Both seemed more relaxed now, though he still held himself carefully. He always held himself carefully, yet it didn’t seem like a natural state for him. Clarke only wished she knew how to help him let go of the weight he always seemed to be carrying. She would have to know what that weight was before she could help him, though, and Bellamy didn’t seem to be the least bit ready to share yet.

She could wait, though, for a while. She was stubborn like that.

When she woke in the morning, Bellamy was still sleeping. His head was close, turned towards her as he slept on his stomach. Clarke was on her back, and she nestled her head into the pillow to get a better look at him. They had managed to keep their personal space separate during the night. Once or twice she had felt their legs brush or his elbow bump hers in that hazy place between sleep and awake. This morning, however, they weren’t intertwined or tucked into one another though. It was a bit disappointing, but she shook it off because if that had been the case, she would’ve been too overcome with nerves and awkwardness to appreciate the way his face was so open and vulnerable in the pale morning light.

“Hey,” he finally murmured when his eyes fluttered open. “Morning.”

She turned on her side, hugging the blankets to her. “Morning.”

“Sleep good?” His voice was roughened by sleep, gravelly but soft.

“Yeah.”

“Better than a sleeping bag, I bet.”

She laughed softly, then flipped over when she heard a creak behind her.

Raven was standing there with raised eyebrows and a coffee mug hovering at her lips.

“Did we wake you two?” She asked lightly. Clarke resisted the urge to flip her off, because she could read so clearly the amusement in her dark eyes.

“Did _you_ have a good night, Raven?” she responded too sweetly instead. “And did Wells?”

“He’s making breakfast,” she announced in refusal to rise to the bait. “You should get some before Jasper wakes up and inhales it all.”

As she hurried away, Clarke laughed after her.

“Are all your friends hooking up with each other?”

Clarke turned to grin at Bellamy. “Welcome to small town Maine.”

“We are officially the seventh and eighth wheels now, you know.”

“Wait--oh god, Monty and Miller? Finally?”

“I’m guessing that’s what the locked door meant,” he replied dryly.

“Oh, this was such a good weekend,” Clarke sighed, dropping back onto her pillow contentedly. She’d have to corner Miller later and get him to spill on how _that_ had finally happened. He owed her, after she’d put up with his pining for ages now.

“It was.”

She jerked her glanced to Bellamy, who had turned on his side to face her. His tone had been heavy and sincere, and he was looking at her gratefully.

“Thanks, for inviting me. I had a really good time.”

“I’m glad you could come,” she responded with a smile. The one he gave her in return almost took her breath away. Her stomach jumped, and her pulse rushed, and before she could do something stupid, she climbed out of the bed. “I’ll get us coffee.”

She didn’t bother to see if he agreed, just stuck her feet into her slippers and darted for the kitchen. Just as she was about to cross the threshold, however, she started to turn around and called out, “Do you want anything in your--”

She paused when she faced him again, because he was lying on his back, looking at his phone and frowning. He hadn’t even heard her. His brow furrowed, pinching tighter the longer he stared at the screen. Exhaustion and tension lined his body once more, and Clarke sighed and continued on her way to get coffee, wondering if she should have done something stupid because it would’ve kept his thoughts here instead of whatever bad space they were in now.

* * *

The ride home was just as quiet as the journey up to the cabin. Wells and Miller both fell asleep soon after they hit the highway, the lazy flow of the fall afternoon lulling the whole car into a soft, pliant stillness.

Clarke tried not to watch Bellamy too much as she drove. It was hard though, because the flash of sunlight glinting off his phone every time he raised it up to check for service kept catching her eye.

Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore. “Everything okay?”

“Fine.”

She grimaced, wishing they were alone. If they had been, she would push him, just a little bit. They were roommates, after all, and maybe now, after this weekend, friends. They weren’t alone, though, and she wasn’t about to rush this.

So instead, she dropped the subject, reaching for the radio. With the boys in the back asleep and unable to object, she went for country.

It took Bellamy a little while, but then there was his low murmur singing along to the song playing softly through the speakers. Clarke smiled, tapping her thumbs on the steering wheel to the beat.

His singing grew louder, and her smile grew wider. He was distracted, if only for the moment, but it was all she could give him and would have to be enough for now. Warming with contentment, she sped up a bit, and the red-orange-yellow of autumn trees passing by smudged further, a colorful blur beyond the windshield and windows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed this updated <3
> 
> FYI chapter 4 may not be up for a long while - prioritizing other projects at the moment sorry! Definitely haven't abandoned this one though :)

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning, I make zero promises to update this regularly because this is my first time writing a fic without any prior planning whatsoever. It is going to be an adventure, so if you are game, join in on the fun - comments are especially appreciated for this fic, because my plans are fluid and I'll need some advice on what works and what doesn't.
> 
> So, happy reading, and come find me on tumblr (kay-emm-gee)!


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